The Bronze Knight by Jonathan Moeller

Author:Jonathan Moeller [Moeller, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-03-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4: Laboratory

Mazael had not remembered to bring a torch, and the narrow windows admitted very little light, but Atalia could conjure a ball of glowing light, so that was all right.

“This is harder than it looks, I’ll have you know,” said Atalia. She held her right hand up, a little wobbling sphere of blue-white light spinning over her fingers. The wobble was irritating, but it did provide sufficient light.

The faint smell of rotting meat grew sharper.

“Quiet,” said Mazael.

“Why bother?” said Atalia.

He looked back at her. “You’re the thief. I thought thieves were supposed to be quiet when breaking into places.”

“Obviously everyone who could threaten us is at the banquet,” said Atalia. “Else Master Tymbalt would not have sent us here.”

“Unless,” said Mazael, “Tymbalt sent us into a trap.”

She gave him a cheery smile. “That’s why you and your sword are here.”

Mazael rolled his eyes, but kept making his way down the spiral stair.

They passed the house’s foundation, following the stairs below the level of the ground. The stones of the curved wall glistened with dampness, and the smell of rotting meat mixed with a sharp chemical odor filled the air, similar to the one that often clung to Trocend Castleson. In Atalia’s harsh, flickering light, Mazael saw the stairs end in a round chamber, an iron-banded door standing in the wall.

“Dismiss your light,” whispered Mazael.

She had the wit to keep her voice down. “Why?”

“I don’t think we’ll need it,” said Mazael.

Atalia closed her hand, and the light winked out. Darkness fell over the subterranean chamber, but a dim green glow leaked from the wooden door. Mazael had never seen light quite that shade of green before. It had a sickly, greasy quality to it. If a rotting corpse could give off light as it gave off foul odor, Mazael suspected, it would give off a light like that.

He stopped before the door and reached for the handle, keeping a ready grip on his longsword’s hilt.

“Wait,” said Atalia. “There might be spells upon the door.”

That was a good point. Mazael waited as she cast the spell to sense the presence of magical forces, her face growing taut with concentration.

“No wards,” said Atalia. “But there is a great deal of necromantic power beyond that door. I think we may have found Trocend’s necromancers.”

Mazael nodded, gripped the handle, and pushed the door open.

The cellar beyond looked like a combination of a scholar’s study, a wizard’s laboratory, and a butcher’s abattoir. Thick stone pillars supported the ceiling, and the light came from four brass braziers that burned with those peculiar green flames. A pair of tables and two bookshelves stood against the wall, holding papers, scrolls, and about a dozen different books, their opened pages covered with spidery writing. Loose sheets of paper bore scribbled notes. A second table held the various instruments of the wizard’s art – devices of brass and bronze (with a patina of verdigris, Mazael noted with satisfaction), glass globes of multicolored fluids, bones carved with elaborate sigils.

A metal table rested in the center of the cellar, the stench coming from its surface.

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